Subj: Tear Jerker1 Stories (Gz)
(Includes 11 jokes and articles)
Flower from
AGAG Animation Gallery
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Subj: Tear Jerker1 Stories (Gz) (Includes 11 jokes and articles) |
|
Flower from AGAG Animation Gallery |
Also see ARTIST file - 'The
Painters:'
BASEBALL file- 'Tale
of a Sport's Mom'
CARS2 file - 'Moonlight
Ride'
CHRISTMAS1 - 'A
Box of Kisses'
FIREMEN file - 'The Littlest
Fireman'
FUNERAL file - 'Keep
Your Fork'
HANDICAPPED - 'Shay Plays
Baseball'
HANDICAP-SUPP- 'Strongest
Dad In The World'
MAILMAN-ETC - 'Doggie
Heaven'
MOVIES-TV-PLY- 'The
Man Who Had No Face'
......................-
'Saving
Private Ryan'
NEW_YORKER - 'An
Awesome 9-11 Story'
PHONE file - 'Information
Please'
PLANE1 file - 'Welcoming
The Troups In Maine'
......................-
'Coming
Home'
POLICE2 file - 'Stopped
While Going To Church'
PREACHER file- 'Daddy's Empty
Chair'
SANTA file - 'The
Real Santa'
SCHOOL2 file - 'Little
Teddy's Teacher'
SCHOOL3 file - 'The
Sister's "List Of Names" Assignment'
STORIES - 'Cab
Driver And The 80 Year Old Lady'
STORIES-SUPP - 'The Famous Paper
Clips'
THOUGHTSLRND2- 'Rose, A 87 Year Old
College Student'
THOUGHTS-TIME- 'Going
Back Home For a Neighbors Funeral'
THOUGHTS-WARM- 'Who
You Are Makes A Difference'
TRAIN file - 'Army-Navy
Football Train'
==========================================================Top
Subj: Bartering
For Marbles (S421)
From: Joke-Of-The-Day-Mail.com on 2/17/2005
Bob Miller was bagging some early
potatoes for me when I
noticed a small boy, delicate
of bone and feature, ragged
but clean, hungrily appraising
a basket of freshly picked
green peas.
I paid for my potatoes but was
also drawn to the display
of fresh green peas. I am a
pushover for creamed peas and
new potatoes. Pondering the
peas, I couldn't help over-
hearing the conversation between
Mr. Miller and the ragged
boy next to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you today?"
"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank
ya. Jus' admirin' them peas.
Sure look good."
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."
"Good. Anything I can help you with?"
"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
"Would you like to take some home?"
"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"
"All I got's my prize marble here."
"Is that right? Let me see it."
"Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
"I can see that. Hmmmmm, only
thing is this one is blue
and I sort of go for red. Do
you have a red one like this
at home?"
"Not zackley, but almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack
of peas home with you and
next trip this way let me look
at that red marble."
"Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been
standing nearby, came over to
help me. With a smile she
said, "There are two other boys
like him in our community,
all three are in very poor circumstances.
Jim just loves to bargain with
them for peas, apples,
tomatoes, or whatever. When
they come back with their red
marbles, and they always do,
he decides he doesn't like
red after all and he sends them
home with a bag of produce
for a green marble or an orange
one, perhaps."
I left the stand smiling to myself,
impressed with this man.
A short time later I moved to
Colorado but I never forgot
the story of this man, the boys,
and their bartering.
Several years went by, each more
rapid that the previous
one. Just recently I had occasion
to visit some old friends
in that Idaho community and
while I was there learned that
Mr. Miller had died. They were
having his viewing that
evening and knowing my friends
wanted to go, I agreed to
accompany them. Upon arrival
at the mortuary we fell into
line to meet the relatives of
the deceased and to offer
whatever words of comfort we
could.
Ahead of us in line were three
young men. One was in an
army uniform and the other two
wore nice haircuts, dark
suits and white shirts ... all
very professional looking.
They approached Mrs. Miller,
standing composed and smiling
by her husband's casket. Each
of the young men hugged her,
kissed her on the cheek, spoke
briefly with her and moved
on to the casket.
Her misty light blue eyes followed
them as, one by one;
each young man stopped briefly
and placed his own warm hand
over the cold pale hand in the
casket. Each left the
mortuary awkwardly, wiping his
eyes.
Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller.
I told her who I was and
mentioned the story she had
told me about the marbles. With
her eyes glistening, she took
my hand and led me to the casket.
"Those three young men who just
left were the boys I told you
about. They just told me how
they appreciated the things Jim
"traded" them. Now, at
last, when Jim could not change his
mind about color or size ...
they came to pay their debt."
"We've never had a great deal
of the wealth of this world,"
she confided, "but right now,
Jim would consider himself the
richest man in Idaho."
With loving gentleness she lifted
the lifeless fingers of
her deceased husband. Resting
underneath were three exquisitely
shined red marbles.
This is Rex Barker C.S. (Crying
Softly) reminded that we will
not be remembered by our words,
but by our kind deeds.
Life is not measured by the breaths
we take, but by the
moments that takes our breath.
\\\//
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Subj: The
Boys Of Iwo Jima (S603)
From: ICohen on 11/04/2000
and
From: rfslick on 7/28/2008
| The Boys of Iwo
Jima
Written by Wisconsin Resident, Michael T. Powers Each year I am hired to go to
Washington DC
This fall's trip was especially
memorable.
|
 |
Photo from Snopes.com
. |
Over one hundred students and
chaperones piled off the buses
and headed towards the memorial.
I noticed a solitary figure at
the base of the statue, and
as I got closer he asked, "Where
are you guys from?" I told
him that we were from Wisconsin.
"Hey, I'm a cheesehead too!
Come gather around Cheeseheads,
and I will tell you a story."
(James Bradley just happened
to be in Washington DC to speak
at the memorial the following
day.)
He was there that night to say
good night to his dad, who
has since passed away.
He was just about to leave when he
saw the buses pull up.
I videotaped him as he spoke to us,
and received his permission
to share what he said from my
videotape.
It is one thing to tour the incredible
monuments filled with
history in Washington DC.
But it is quite another to get
the kind of insight we received
that night. When all had
gathered around he reverently
began to speak. Here are his
words that night.
"My name is James Bradley and
I'm from Antigo, Wisconsin.
My dad is on that statue, and
I just wrote a book called
"Flags of Our Fathers" which
is #5 on the New York Times
Best Seller list right now.
It is the story of the six boys
you see behind me. Six
boys raised the flag.
The first guy putting the pole
in the ground is Harlon Block
Harlon was an all-state football
player. He enlisted in the
Marine Corps with all the senior
members of his football
team. They were off to
play another type of game. A game
called "War." But it didn't
turn out to be a game. Harlon,
at the age of 21, died with
his intestines in his hands. I
don't say that to gross you
out, I say that because there
are generals who stand in front
of this statue and talk about
the glory of war. You
guys need to know that most of the
boys in Iwo Jima were 17, 18,
and 19 years old.
(He pointed to the statue.)
You see this next guy? That's
Rene Gagnon from New Hampshire.
If you took Rene's helmet off
at the moment this photo was
taken, and looked in the webbing
of that helmet, you would
find a photograph. A photograph
of his girlfriend. Rene put
that in their for protection,
because he was scared. He was
18 years old. Boys won
the battle of Iwo Jima. Boys. Not
old men.
The next guy here, the third
guy in this tableau, was Sergeant
Mike Strank. Mike is my
hero. He was the hero of all these
guys. They called him the "old
man" because he was so old. He
was already 24. When Mike
would motivate his boys in training
camp, he didn't say, "Let's
go kill some Japanese" or "Let's
die for our country."
He knew he was talking to little
boys. Instead he would say,
"You do what I say, and I'll
get you home to your mothers."
The last guy on this side of
the statue is Ira Hayes, a Pema
Indian from Arizona. Ira
Hayes walked off Iwo Jima. He went
into the White House with my
dad. President Truman told him,
"You're a hero." He told
reporters, "How can I feel like a
hero when 250 of my buddies
hit the island with me and only 27
of us walked off alive?"
So you take your class at school.
250 of you spending a year together
having fun, doing every-
thing together. Then all
250 of you hit the beach, but only
27 of your classmates walk off
alive. That was Ira Hayes. He
had images of horror in his
mind. Ira Hayes died dead drunk,
face down at the age of 32.
Ten years after this picture was
taken.
The next guy going around the
statue is Franklin Sousley from
Hilltop Kentucky. A fun-lovin'
hillbilly boy. His best friend,
who is now 70 told me, "Yeah
you know, we took two cows up on
the porch of the Hilltop General
Store. Then we strung wire
across the stairs so the cows
couldn't get down. Then we fed
them Epson salts. Those
cows crapped all night." Yes he was
a fun-lovin' hillbilly boy.
Franklin died on Iwo Jima at the
age of 19. When the telegram
came to tell his mother that he
was dead, it went to the Hilltop
General Store. A barefoot boy
ran that telegram up to his
mother's farm. The neighbors could
hear her scream all night and
into the morning. The neighbors
lived a quarter of a mile away.
The next guy, as we continue
to go around the statue is my dad,
John Bradley from Antigo, Wisconsin,
where I was raised. My
dad lived until 1994, but he
would never give interviews. When
Walter Kronkite's producers,
or the New York Times would call,
we were trained as little kids
to say, "No, I'm sorry sir, my
dad's not here. He is
in Canada fishing. No, there is no
phone there sir. No, we
don't know when he is coming back."
My dad never fished or even
went to Canada. Usually he was
sitting there right at the table
eating his Campbell's soup.
But we had to tell the press
that he was out fishing. He did
not want to talk to the press.
You see, my dad didn't see him-
self as a hero.
Everyone thinks these guys are
heroes, 'cause they are in a
photo and a monument.
My dad knew better. He was a medic.
John Bradley from Wisconsin
was a caregiver. In Iwo Jima he
probably held over 200 boys
as they died. And when boys died
in Iwo Jima, they writhed and
screamed in pain. When I was a
little boy, my third grade teacher
told me that my dad was a
hero. When I went home
and told my dad that, he looked at me
and said, "I want you always
to remember that the heroes of
Iwo Jima are the guys who did
not come back. DID not come back."
So that's the story about six
nice young boys. Three died on
Iwo Jima, and three came back
as national heroes. Overall 7000
boys died on Iwo Jima in the
worst battle in the history of the
Marine Corps.
My voice is giving out, so I
will end here. Thank you for your
time." Suddenly the monument
wasn't just a big old piece of
metal with a flag sticking out
of the top. It came to life
before our eyes with the heartfelt
words of the son who did
indeed have a father who was
a hero. Maybe not a hero for the
reasons most people would believe,
but a hero none-the-less.
This story is verivied at true
by Snopes.com at
http://www.snopes.com/military/sixboys.asp
\\\//
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Subj: Everybody
Has A Dream (S80)
From: smiles on 98-08-10
Everybody Has A Dream
By Virginia Satir
(c) 1993 Chicken Soup for the Soul
Some years ago I took on an assignment
in a southern county
to work with people on public
welfare. What I wanted to
do was show that everybody has
the capacity to be self-
sufficient and all we have to
do is to activate them. I
asked the county to pick a group
of people who were on
public welfare, people from
different racial groups and
different family constellations.
I would then see them as
a group for three hours every
Friday. I also asked for a
little petty cash to work with
as I needed it.
The first thing I said after
I shook hands with everybody
was,"I would like to know what
your dreams are." Everyone
looked at me as if I were kind
of wacky.
"Dreams? We don't have
dreams." I said, "Well, when you
were a kid what happened?
Wasn't there something you wanted
to do?"
One woman said to me, "I don't
know what you can do with
dreams. The rats are eating
up my kids"
"Oh," I said. "That terrible.
No, of course, you are very
much involved with the rats
and your kids. How can that be
helped?"
"Well, I could use a new screen door
because there are holes
in my screen door."
I asked, "Is there anybody around
here who knows how to fix
a screen door?"
There was a man in the group,
and he said, "A long time ago
I used to do things like that
but now I have a terribly bad
back, but I'll try."
I told him I had some money if
he would go to the store and
buy some screening and go and
fix the lady's screen door.
"Do you think you can do that?"
"Yes, I'll try."
The next week, when the group
was seated, I said to the woman,
"Well is your screen door fixed?"
"Oh, yes," She said.
"Then we can start dreaming,
can't we?" She sort of smiled at
me. I said to the man
who did the work ,"How do you feel?"
He said, "Well, you know, it's
a very funny thing. I'm
beginning to feel a lot better."
That helped the group to begin
to dream. These seemingly
small successes allowed the
group to see that dreams were
not insane. These small
steps began to get people to see
and feel that something really
could happen.
I began to ask other people about
their dreams. One woman
shared that she always wanted
to be a secretary. I said,
"Well, what stands in your way?"
(That's always my next
question.)
She said, "I have six kids, and
I don't have anyone to take
care of them while I'm away."
"Let's find out," I said. "Is
there anybody in this group
who would take care of six kids
for a day or two a week
while this woman gets some training
here at the community
college?"
One woman said "I got kids, too, but I could do that."
"Let's do it," I said.
So a plan was created and the
woman went to school.
Everyone found something.
The man who put in the screen
door became a handyman.
The woman who took in the children
became a licensed foster care
person. In 12 weeks I had
all these people off public
welfare. I've not only done
that once, I've done it many
times.
\\\//
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Subj: You
Are My Sunshine
From: Anaise on 98-05-24
Like any good mother, when Karen
found out that another baby
was on the way, she did what
she could to help her 3-year-
old son, Michael, prepare for
a new sibling. They find out
that the new baby is going to
be a girl, and day after day,
night after night, Michael sings
to his sister in Mommy's
tummy.
The pregnancy progresses normally
for Karen, an active member
of the Panther Creek United
Methodist Church in Morristown,
Tennessee. Then the labor
pains come. Every five minutes...
every minute. But complications
arise during delivery. Hours
of labor. Would a C-section
be required? Finally, Michael's
little sister is born. But she
is in serious condition. With
siren howling in the night,
the ambulance rushes the infant
to the neonatal intensive care
unit at St. Mary's Hospital,
Knoxville, Tennessee.
The days inch by. The little
girl gets worse. The pediatric
specialist tells the parents,
"There is very little hope. Be
prepared for the worst."
Karen and her husband contact a
local cemetery about a burial
plot. They have fixed up a
special room in their home for
the new baby, now they plan a
funeral.
Michael, keeps begging his parents
to let him see his sister,
"I want to sing to her," he
says.
Week two in intensive care.
It looks as if a funeral will
come before the week is over.
Michael keeps nagging about
singing to his sister, but kids
are never allowed in Intensive
Care. But Karen makes
up her mind. She will take Michael
whether they like it or not.
If he doesn't see his sister
now, he may never see her alive.
She dresses him in an oversized
scrub suit and marches him
into ICU. He looks like
a walking laundry basket, but the
head nurse recognizes him as
a child and bellows, "Get that
kid out of here now! No children
are allowed in ICU."
The mother rises up strong in
Karen, and the usually mild-
mannered lady glares steel-eyed
into the head nurse's face,
her lips a firm line.
"He is not leaving until he sings to
his sister!"
Karen tows Michael to his sister's
bedside. He gazes at
the tiny infant losing the battle
to live. And he begins
to sing. In the pure hearted
voice of a 3-year-old, Michael
sings:
"You are my sunshine, my only
sunshine, you make me happy
when skies are gray --- "
Instantly the baby girl responds.
The pulse rate becomes calm
and steady.
Keep on singing, Michael.
"You never know, dear, how much
I love you,
Please don't take my sunshine
away---"
The ragged, strained breathing
becomes as smooth as a
kitten's purr.
Keep on singing, Michael.
"The other night, dear, as I
lay sleeping, I dreamed I
held you in my arms..." Michael's
little sister relaxes
as rest, healing rest, seems
to sweep over her. Tears
conquer the face of the bossy
head nurse. Karen glows.
"You are my sunshine, my only
sunshine. Please don't,
take my sunshine away."
The girl is well enough to go
home! Woman's Day magazine
called it "The miracle of a
brother's song." The medical
staff just called it a miracle.
Karen called it a miracle
of God's love. A few weeks
later, Michael's little sister
was baptized at the Panther
Creek Church.
\\\//
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Subj: One
Prom, One Boy, Seven Dates
From: Anaise on 98-05-19
This was in the news this morning, so it must be true! --Ann
One date is often a handful,
but Luke Buchheit, 17, of
McMinnville, OR, pulled off
an incredible feat by bringing
seven young ladies to the prom.
As the big day approached, Buchheit
didn't know who to invite,
so he asked his cousin how many
girls still had no dates for
the big dance.
"I might have been half-joking
at first when I said I'd take
them all, but then I thought,
this might be kind of cool,"
he said.
So in the weeks before the May
2 prom, Buchheit made seven
phone calls. Then he ordered
seven corsages and a boutonniere
with seven rhinestones.
He also worked to raise $500
to buy eight prom tickets, his
tux and an eight person dinner.
Seated at the head of the table,
flanked by two rows of girls,
Buchheit couldn't help but feel
it was worth it.
Men stopped to pat him on the
back and grinned foolishly. An
elderly woman worked up the
nerve to ask what everyone else
was wondering:
"Does one of you have a date
and the rest are going stag?" she
asked.
"No," the girls said. "We're all going with Luke."
Though the girls joked about
"Luke's harem," friendship
overruled romance. Many
of the teens have known each other
since kindergarten.
\\\//
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Subj: The
Other Woman (S449)
From: auntiegah on 8/20/2005
After 21 years of marriage, I
discovered a new way of keeping
alive the spark of love.
A little while ago I had started to
go out with another woman.
It was really my wife's idea. "I
know that you love her," she
said one day, taking me by
surprise. "But I love
YOU," I protested. "I know, but you
also love her."
The other woman that my wife
wanted me to visit was my mother,
who has been a widow for 19
years, but the demands of my work
and my three children had made
it possible to visit her only
occasionally.
That night I called to invite
her to go out for dinner and a
movie. "What's wrong, are you
well?" she asked. My mother is
the type of woman who suspects
that a late night call or a
surprise invitation is a sign
of bad news.
"I thought that it would be pleasant
to pass some time with
you," I responded. "Just
the two of us." She thought about
it for a moment then said "I
would like that very much." That
Friday after work, as I drove
over to pick her up I was a bit
nervous. When I arrived
at her house, I noticed that she, too,
seemed to be nervous about our
date. She waited in the door
with her coat on. She
had curled her hair and was wearing the
dress that she had worn to celebrate
her last wedding anniversary.
She smiled from a face that
was as radiant as an angel's. "I
told my friends that I was going
to go out with my son, and they
were impressed," she said, as
she got into the car. "They can't
wait to hear about our meeting".
We went to a restaurant that,
although not elegant, was very
nice and cozy. My mother
took my arm as if she were the First
Lady. After we sat down,
I had to read the menu to her. Her
eyes could only read large print.
Half way through the entree,
I lifted my eyes and saw Mom
sitting there staring at me. A
nostalgic smile was on her lips.
"It was I who used to have
to read the menu when you were
small," she said. "Then it's
time for you to relax and let
me return the favor," I responded.
During the dinner we had an agreeable
conversation, nothing
extraordinary - but catching
up on recent events of each others
lives. We talked so much
that we missed the movie. As we
arrived at her house later,
she said, "I'll go out with you
again, but only if you let me
invite you". I agreed. "How
was your dinner date?" asked
my wife when I got home. "Very
nice. Much more so than
I could have imagined," I answered.
A few days later my mother died
of a massive heart attack. It
happened so suddenly that I
didn't have a chance to do anything
for her. Some time later
I received an envelope with a copy of
a restaurant receipt from the
same place mother and I had dined.
An attached note said: "I paid
this bill in advance. I was
almost sure that I couldn't
be there but, nevertheless, I paid
for two plates -one for you
and the other for your wife. You
will never know what that night
meant to me. I love you."
At that moment I understood the
importance of saying, in time:
"I LOVE YOU" and giving our
loved ones the time that they
deserve. Nothing in life
is more important than God and your
family and friends. Give them
the time they deserve, because
these things cannot be put off
'til "some other time". Some-
one once said "I've learned
that, regardless of your relation-
ship with your parents, you'll
miss them when they're gone
from your life. I think
this is true with your in-laws,
grandchildren, sisters, brothers
and your friends. Anyone
that means something to you-you
should spend time with them
and let them know how much they
mean to you as often as you
can.
\\\//
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Subj: Flowers
For Mom
From: RFSlick on 98-05-13
A man stopped at a flower shop
to order some flowers to be
wired to his mother who lived
two hundred miles away. As he
got out of his car he noticed
a young girl sitting on the curb
sobbing. He asked her what was
wrong and she replied,
"I wanted to buy a red rose
for my mother, but I only have
seventy-five cents. A
rose costs two dollars."
The man smiled and said, "Come
on in with me. I'll buy you a
rose."
He bought the little girl her
rose and ordered his own mother's
flowers. As they were leaving
he offered the girl a ride home.
She said, "Yes, please! You
can take me to my mother."
She directed him to a cemetery,
where she placed the rose on
a freshly covered grave.
After he left the girl, the man
returned to the flower shop,
cancelled the wire order, picked
up a bouquet and drove the
two hundred miles to his mother's
house.
\\\//
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Subj: Reflections
of the Vietnam Wall (S68)
From: RFSlick on 98-05-13
If you've ever seen the painting
"Reflections" of the
Vietnam Wall in Washington,
you've seen the man
standing there with his hand
on the wall, mourning
his dead father or brother who
was killed. What he
doesn't see is the reflection
from the other side
showing that relative with HIS
hand on the wall,
touching the hand of his survivor.
That painting
inspired this story.
FROM THE OTHER SIDE
By Patrick Camunes
"There are so many things that
are written about
the Wall but never anything
of being on the other
side. I was inspired by the
picture Reflections that I
use as wallpaper on my PC and
a recent story,
Autumn Wall."
At first there was no place for
us to go until
someone put up that Black Granite
Wall. Now,
everyday and night, my Brothers
and my Sisters
wait to see the many people
from places afar file in
front of this Wall. Many
stopping briefly and many
for hours and some that come
on a regular basis. It
was hard at first, not that
it's gotten any easier, but
it seems that many of the attitudes
towards that war
that we were involved in have
changed. I can only
pray that the ones on the other
side have learned
something and more Walls as
this one needn't be
built.
Several members of my unit and
many that I did not
recognize have called me to
the Wall by touching
my name that is engraved upon
it. The tears aren't
necessary but are hard even
for me to hold back.
Don't feel guilty for not being
with me, my Brothers.
This was my destiny as it is
yours, to be on that
side of the Wall.
Touch the Wall, my Brothers,
so that we can share
in the memories that we had.
I have learned to put
the bad memories aside and remember
only the
pleasant times that we had together.
Tell our other
Brothers out there to come and
visit me, not to say
Good Bye but to say Hello and
be together again,
even for a short time and to
ease that pain of loss
that we all share.
Today, an irresistible and loving
call comes from
the Wall. As I approach I can
see an elderly lady
and as I get closer I recognize
her.......It's Momma!
As much as I have looked forward
to this day, I
have also regretted it because
I didn't know what
reaction I would have.
Next to her, I suddenly see my
wife and
immediately think how hard it
must of been for her
to come to this place and my
mind floods with the
pleasant memories of 30 years
past. There's a
young man in a military uniform
standing with his
arm around her......My God!......It's...it
has to be my
son. Look at him trying
to be the man without a
tear in his eye. I yearn
to tell him how proud I am,
seeing him standing tall, straight
and proud in his
uniform.
Momma comes closer and touches
the Wall and I
feel the soft and gentle touch
I had not felt in so
many years. Dad has crossed
to this side of the
Wall and through our touch,
I try to convey to her
that Dad is doing fine and is
no longer suffering or
feeling pain. I see my
wife's courage building as
she sees Momma touch the Wall
and she
approaches and lays her hand
on my waiting hand.
All the emotions, feelings and
memories of three
decades past flash between our
touch and I tell her
that it's all right. Carry
on with your life and don't
worry about me......I can see
as I look into her eyes
that she hears and understands
me and a big
burden has been lifted from
her.
I watch as they lay flowers and
other memories of
my past. My lucky charm
that was taken from me
and sent to her by my CO, a
tattered and worn
teddy bear that I can barely
remember having as I
grew up as a child and several
medals that I had
earned and were presented to
my wife. One of them
is the Combat Infantry Badge
that I am very proud
of and I notice that my son
is also wearing this
medal. I had earned mine
in the jungles of
Vietnam and he had probably
earned his in the
deserts of Iraq.
I can tell that they are preparing
to leave and I try to
take a mental picture of them
together, because I
don't know when I will see them
again. I wouldn't
blame them if they were not
to return and can
only thank them that I was not
forgotten. My wife
and Momma near the Wall for
one final touch and
so many years of indecision,
fear and sorrow are
let go. As they turn to
leave I feel my tears that had
not flowed for so many years,
form as if dew drops
on the other side of the Wall.
They slowly move away with only
a glance over
their shoulder. My son
suddenly stops and slowly
returns. He stands
straight and proud in front of
me and snaps a salute.
Something makes him
move to the Wall and he puts
his hand upon the
Wall and touches my tears that
had formed on the
face of the Wall and I can tell
that he senses my
presence there and the pride
and the love that I
have for him. He falls
to his knees and the tears
flow from his eyes and I try
my best to reassure him
that it's all right and the
tears do not make him any
less of a man.
As he moves back wiping the tears
from his eyes,
he silently mouths, God Bless
you, Dad...... God
Bless, YOU, Son......
We WILL meet someday but
in the meanwhile, go on your
way...... There is no
hurry.......There is no hurry
at all.
As I see them walk off in the
distance, I yell out to
THEM and EVERYONE there today,
as loud as I
can,.........THANKS FOR REMEMBERING
and as
others on this side of the Wall
join in, I notice that
the US Flag that so proudly
flies in front of us
everyday, is flapping and standing
proudly straight
out in the wind today.
THANK YOU ALL FOR REMEMBERING.....
\\\//
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Subj: Attitude
Is Everything By Francie Baltazar-Schwartz (S40, S586c)
From: DR SWITZER on 97-06-03
and
From: rfslick on 4/6/2008
Hi: this came to me from my friend's
Woodbadge counselor
(Boy Scouts). It is well
worth passing on.
Jerry was the kind of guy you
love to hate. He was always
in a good mood and always had
something positive to say.
When someone would ask him how
he was doing, he would reply,
"If I were any better, I would
be twins!"
He was a unique restaurant manager
because he had several
waiters who had followed him
around from restaurant to
restaurant. The reason
the waiters followed Jerry was
because of his attitude.
He was a natural motivator. If
an employee was having a bad
day, Jerry was there telling
the employee how to look on
the positive side of the
situation. Seeing this
style really made me curious, so
one day I went up to Jerry and
asked him, "I don't get
it! You can't be a positive
person all of the time. How
do you do it?"
Jerry replied, "Each morning
I wake up and say to myself,
'Jerry, you have two choices
today. You can choose to be
in a good mood or you can choose
to be in a bad mood.' I
choose to be in a good mood.
Each time something bad
happens, I can choose to be
a victim or I can choose to
learn from it. I choose
to learn from it. Every time
someone comes to me complaining,
I can choose to accept
their complaining or I can point
out the positive side of
life. I choose the positive
side of life."
"Yeah, right, it's not that easy," I protested.
"Yes it is," Jerry said. "Life
is all about choices. When
you cut away all the junk, every
situation is a choice.
You choose how you react to
situations. You choose how
people will affect your mood.
You choose to be in a good
mood or bad mood. The
bottom line - It's your choice how
you live life."
I reflected on what Jerry said.
Soon there after, I left
the restaurant industry to start
my own business. We lost
touch, but often thought about
him when I made a choice
about life instead of reacting
to it.
Several years later, I
heard that Jerry did something you
are never supposed to do in
a restaurant business. He left
the back door open one morning
and was held up at gunpoint
by three armed robbers.
While trying to open the safe, his
hand, shaking from nervousness,
slipped off the combination.
The robbers panicked and shot
him. Luckily, Jerry was found
relatively quickly and rushed
to the local trauma center.
After 18 hours of surgery and
weeks of intensive care, Jerry
was released from the hospital
with fragments of the bullets
still in his body. I saw Jerry
about six months after the
accident. When I asked
him how he was, he replied, "If I
were any better, I'd be twins.
Wanna see my scars?"
I declined to see his wounds,
but did ask him what had gone
through his mind as the robbery
took place.
"The first thing that went through
my mind was that I should
have locked the back door,"
Jerry replied. "Then, as I lay
on the floor, I remembered that
I had two choices I could
choose to live, or I could choose
to die. I chose to live.
"Weren't you scared? Did you lose consciousness?" I asked.
Jerry continued, "The paramedics
were great. They kept
telling me I was going to be
fine. But when they wheeled
me into the emergency room and
I saw the expressions on the
faces of the doctors and nurses,
I got really scared.
In their eyes, I read, 'He's
a dead man.' I knew I needed
to take action."
"What did you do?" I asked.
"Well, there was a big, burly
nurse shouting questions at
me," said Jerry.
"She asked if I was allergic
to anything. 'Yes,' I replied.
The doctors and nurses stopped
working as they waited for
my reply... I took a deep
breath and yelled, 'Bullets!'
Over their laughter, I told them,
'I am choosing to live.
Operate on me as if I am alive,
not dead.'"
Jerry lived thanks to the skill
of his doctors, but also
because of his amazing attitude.
I learned from him that
every day we have the choice
to live fully. Attitude,
after all, is everything.
\\\//
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Subj: Awful-Looking
Old Man Knocks At The Door (S45, S321)
From: TNKRTEACH on 97-12-05
and
From: mombear1 on 3/23/2003
Our house was directly across
the street from the entrance
to the clinic of the John Hopkins
Hospital in Baltimore.
We lived downstairs and rented
the upstairs rooms to out-
patients at the clinic.
One summer evening, as I fixed
supper, there was a knock
at the door, I opened it to
see a truly awful-looking old
man. "Why, he's hardly
taller than my eight-year-old," I
thought as I stared at the stooped,
shriveled body. Most
appalling, his face was lopsided
from swelling, red and
raw. Yet his voice was
pleasant, "Good evening. I've
come to see if you've a room
for just one night. I came
for a treatment this morning
from the eastern shore, and
there's no bus till morning."
He told me he'd been
hunting for a room since noon
but with no success. "I
guess it's my face. I
know it looks terrible, but my
doctor says with a few more
treatments..."
For a moment I hesitated but
his next words convinced me.
"I could sleep in this rocking
chair on the porch. My
bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would
find him a bed, but meanwhile
he could rest on the porch.
I went inside and finished getting
supper. When we were
ready, I asked the old man if
he would join us. "No thank-
you. I have plenty." He
held up a brown -paper bag.
When I finished the dishes, I
went out on the porch to talk
with him for a few minutes.
It didn't take long to see
that this old man had an oversized
heart crowded into that
tiny body. He told me
he fished for a living to support
his daughter, her five children
and her husband, who was
hopelessly crippled from a back
injury. He didn't tell it
by way of complaint. Every
other sentence was prefaced
with thanks to God for a blessing.
He was grateful that
no pain accompanied his disease,
which was apparently a
form of skin cancer. He
thanked God for giving him the
strength to keep going.
When I got up in the morning,
the bed linens were neatly
folded and the little old man
was out on the porch. He
refused breakfast, but just
before he left for his bus,
he haltingly, as if asking for
a great favor, he said,
"Could I please come back and
stay the next time I have
to have a treatment? I
won't put you out a bit, I can
sleep fine in a chair."
He paused a moment and then
added, "Your children made me
feel at home. Grownups
are bothered by my face, but
children don't seem to
mind." I told him he was
welcome to come again.
On his next trip, he arrived
a little after seven in the
morning. As a gift, he
brought us a big fish and a quart
of the largest oysters I have
ever seen. He said that he
had shucked them that morning
before he left so they
would be nice and fresh.
I knew his bus left at 4:00 a.m.
and wondered what time he had
to get up in order to do
this.
Over the years he came to stay
overnight with us, there
was never a time that he did
not bring us fish or oysters
or vegetables from his garden.
Other times we received
packages in the mail, always
by special delivery, fish
and oysters packed in a box
of fresh young spinach or
kale, each leaf carefully washed.
Knowing that he must
walk three miles to mail these
and how little money he
had made these gifts doubly
precious. When I received
these little remembrances, I
often thought of a comment
our next-door neighbor had made
after the fisherman left
that first morning. "Did
you keep that awful-looking
old man last night? I
turned him away. You can lose
roomers by putting up such people."
Maybe we did, once or twice.
But oh, if they could have
known him, perhaps their illnesses
would be easier to
bear. I know our family
always will be grateful to have
known him. From him we
learned what it was to accept the
bad without complaint and the
good with gratitude to God.
Recently I was visiting a friend
who has a greenhouse.
As she showed me her flowers,
we came to the most beautiful
one of all, a golden chrysanthemum,
bursting with bloom.
But to great surprise, it was
growing in an old dented,
rusty bucket. I thought
to myself, if this were my plant
I'd put it in the loveliest
container I had. My friend
changed my mind. "I ran
short of pots," she explained,
"and knowing how beautiful this
one would be, I thought
it wouldn't mind starting in
this old pail. It's just for
a little while till I can put
it out in the garden." She
must have wondered why I laughed
so delightedly, but I was
imagining just such a scene
in heaven. "Here's an
especially beautiful one.
He won't mind starting in this
small ugly body."
Author unknown
\\\//
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Subj: Taps
(S119)
From: JOELFALLON on 97-02-21
..........See 'True Story Of Taps' in STORIES
\\\//
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